I’ve been calling Indianapolis/Greenwood home for well over a decade now. Heck…in a few years it will have been two decades since I made the move. I always promised my dad that I would leave Terre Haute so when he died it was one of the first things I did. I can still remember packing up that UHaul truck and saying goodbye to the place I had called home for most of my life. I felt liberated. Free.
Yet, as I age…I miss it.
Don’t get me wrong…living in Terre Haute was miserable. I was tormented daily. Harassed. Even assaulted. I don’t know how much of that was because I was raised by one of the few openly gay men in a podunk redneck down or because I was the “weird” girl being raised by one of the few openly gay men in a podunk redneck town. You see…I’ve always been a pagan surrounded by devout Christians. I’ve always had tattoos and piercings – I was the first in my school to be pierced and I even got my first ink at the young age of thirteen. I’ve always enjoyed weird hair styles and black clothes. In a sea of fresh virgin skin and camo lets just say I stood out like a sore thumb.
When I move to Indianapolis, though, I found something I hadn’t ever experienced – acceptance. In all honesty…in the grand scheme of things…I like who I am. In a sea of tattoos and piercings my body tells a secret story that sometimes you have to ask to decipher.
But something is missing.
I miss the simplicity of life in Terre Haute…and I miss the few family members I have that are about me.
Christie Yvonne, Evie, and Jorja are in for a visit…and at least for a couple of days…I feel like I have home with me.
Home sweet precious home.